


You Could Go Blind From That

by shanology



Series: Losing Control [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Food Porn, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation Interruptus
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-17
Updated: 2017-01-20
Packaged: 2018-02-17 19:11:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2320319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shanology/pseuds/shanology
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Post-WS Bucky hasn't been getting himself off, and somehow Steve has noticed. And decided it's something they should talk about. Awkwardly, in the middle of meals. Poor Bucky is now sexually frustrated, embarrassed, AND hungry. Not to mention way too turned-on by his roommate.</p><p>My thanks to Sarah_Frog for contributing French phrases!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The "Losing Control" series is going to be all about Bucky Barnes rediscovering himself after he returns to Steve's life and joins up with the Avengers. For this series, I'm assuming that Bucky regains all of his memories pretty quickly after the events of Captain America 2 (http://shanology.tumblr.com/post/89136730640/bucky-remembers-everything), but emotionally he's still a mess. In "Losing Control", Bucky's going to be figuring out what he wants and needs, and how to go about getting it. 
> 
> Ultimately, what Bucky needs will be Steve, but there will be a lot of hiccups along the way as they both figure that out and come to terms with it. In the meantime, Bucky's going to have some adventures with Clint and Natasha (and maybe others), but when all is said and done, Stucky will triumph. I'm going to try to write each story in such a way that if there's a particular pairing you're just not into, you can skip that installment and not end up too lost. 
> 
> Also, my apologies for the fact that this series was written slightly out of order - somehow this started with a Clint/Bucky fic and then I had to backtrack to explain how Bucky ended up in the right mindset to be messing around in a cabin with Clint Barton.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Bucky glanced up, puzzled. He wasn’t sure what it was that Steve thought they should be talking about. He’d just loaded up his plate with a ridiculously large stack of French toast and bacon, so it couldn’t be another intervention about how he needed to eat more. They’d moved on from that problem only a few weeks after he’d moved in with Steve. He hadn’t been on a mission in days, so there was no need for the “But how do you _feel_ about what happened out there?” routine. It had been at least four nights since he’d woken up panicked from a nightmare, and they’d been dealing with _those_ events on a case-by-case basis. Bucky and Steve had been sharing an apartment in Avengers Tower for six months now, and things had been going about as smoothly as could be hoped for, given that they were living in the wrong fucking _century_. At least, Bucky had thought things were going smoothly – with the way Steve was keeping his eyes fixed on his French toast and blushing like a schoolgirl, clearly Bucky had missed something.

There was nothing for it but to ask. “It?” he repeated, taking a bite of his breakfast. There was absolutely no discussion in the world that was going to keep him from Steve’s French toast. Back in the day, they’d both known how to cook, how to stretch a meager supply of staples into enough to fill their bellies, but Steve had usually ended up doing the cooking just because Bucky was so often working. In this century, Steve had taken that skill and turned it into an art. Sam teased Steve about being a “foodie;” Bucky still wasn’t totally sure what that meant, but it seemed to involve them spending every weekend at farmer’s markets and gourmet grocery stores searching out ingredients he’d never heard of. He’d asked Steve about it once, and Steve had explained that when he’d first woken up, he’d really had nothing to do a lot of the time. He’d been watching some cooking shows on late night TV and decided to try a few of the recipes, and was surprised to discover that cooking was soothing. “It’s like drawing in my sketchbooks,” he’d explained. “It feels good to create something that makes people happy.” He’d left the “instead of destroying things” unsaid – that part, Bucky understood all too well.

Steve’s cooking _definitely_ made Bucky happy, and he might have moaned just a little as he forked in another bite of French toast. It was his favorite of all Steve’s recipes – Steve had explained how he made it once, something involving _brûlée_ and _caramelization_ , but all Bucky cared about was that it ended up with some sort of crispy, sugary coating that tasted like sin. And yeah, actually, that was a little weird, now that he thought about it. The French toast had to be prepped the night before, so Steve wouldn’t normally dish up Bucky’s favorite breakfast on a random Tuesday morning. Bucky realized then that Steve was still staring at his plate, blushing, pushing his food around. And he hadn’t answered the question. Whatever they needed to talk about, clearly Steve had felt that Bucky needed to be buttered up first, and that was a little worrisome.

“Steve?” Bucky prompted, wanting to just get whatever it was the hell over with so he could enjoy his breakfast. He took another bite of _fucking gift from heaven French toast_ and was trying to figure out how to be pitiful enough that this would appear on the breakfast table every day when Steve finally looked up.

Bucky immediately regretted that last bite of food when Steve responded, “About masturbation, Buck. Do you want to talk about why you haven’t been?” There was absolutely no response Bucky could give to that other than to choke on the most perfect French toast in the world. He grabbed for his coffee and took a gulp, but the coffee was still damned hot, so Bucky was left coughing and gasping and he was _fucking grateful_ for that because it bought him precious moments to figure out what to say.

Those moments were no help, though, and once he could breathe again, all Bucky could come up with was, “What the _hell_ , Steve???” Sure, okay, no – he hadn’t been doing…that. But how did Steve know? And why would Steve care? Most importantly, what made Steve think this was a thing they should be talking about over breakfast – or, you know, _ever_?

Steve was still blushing, but he seemed determined to keep going with the topic. “Buck, you show up for breakfast every morning with blue lips. I go in the bathroom after you shower and it’s like walking into an icebox. You’re doing the cold shower thing, I get it, but…” Steve took a sip of his own coffee, cradling the mug in both hands like the warmth would get him through what he needed to say. “We lived together for a long time. Always ignored what was going on in the other bed, cause that’s just…you do what you gotta do, right? But I _know_ you, and it was _every_ night for you, and now it’s every damned morning that you wander in here looking like you’ve been back in cryofreeze.” Bucky determinedly took another bite of French toast to avoid having to be part of the conversation, but he could barely taste it and he was gonna be goddamned angry if this conversation ruined Steve’s French toast for him forever.

Steve, it seemed, wasn’t finished. “Look, I don’t wanna butt in, but if there’s something going on…if there’s anything I can do…” Bucky couldn’t help but snort out a laugh and look up at that, because was Steve really offering to…? Just the thought made his heart race, but Steve backtracked quickly, clarifying, “I mean, you have your own room, but the soundproofing’s not perfect and if you just need me to leave for a while? Or you need…like, supplies or something?” Bucky’s own embarrassment faded as he looked at Steve’s red face and realized that somehow, he wasn’t the most uncomfortable person in this conversation. He wondered how long it had taken for Steve to get the nerve to bring this up.

“I’m fine, Steve,” he replied, hoping to just put an end to it as he grabbed another piece of bacon. And he _was_ fine, really – it’s not like jerking off was some sort of requirement. Plenty of people didn’t, he was sure, and it wasn’t going to kill him to take a cold shower when he woke up hard and aching (which, to be fair, was every day). If it made him a little frustrated and tense and distracted at times, he’d find ways to deal with that. This wasn’t a problem that Steve needed to solve, it was just…a thing. A thing that he planned to ignore and never, ever talk about with Steve again. “Not a problem.”

Steve didn’t look reassured, but he apparently figured out from the way Bucky had returned his attention fully to his breakfast that the conversation was over. He switched to discussing their upcoming mission to take down some terrorist cell, and Bucky was infinitely happier with that conversation than he had been with discussing his dick. He wasn’t going to think too hard about what that might say about him, though. Not when there was French toast to be eaten. Maybe not at all.

******

They stumbled into their apartment that night tired, sore, but victorious. Mission accomplished, bad guys captured or dead, another win for team peace and freedom. Still, even supersoldiers got hurt – they might heal faster than normal, but they still collected the injuries along the way, and Bucky was feeling it in plenty of places where he’d taken a hit or landed wrong. He wanted food and a shower and his bed, and he wasn’t gonna be picky about what order those came in.

As it turned out, he got first dibs on the shower while Steve tossed together some paninis in the kitchen. (Bucky had quickly learned to revere Steve’s panini press as one of the seminal achievements of the era.) Throwing on a pair of shorts, he wandered in to find Steve just heading for the table with a couple of plates of sandwiches and a bowl of melon. One of the best damn things about living with Steve now was the constant flow of amazing food, and Bucky’s mouth watered at the scent of ham, salami, and melted provolone. He grabbed a couple of beers out of the fridge – even though neither of them could get drunk, they still loved the experience of drinking an ice-cold beer – and collapsed into his seat.

Bucky took a bite of his panini, and _hell yeah_ , it tasted every bit as good as it smelled. He’d finished his first sandwich and was halfway through the second one when Steve reached over and put a hand on his arm – his original arm, not the sleek robotic one Stark had made to replace Hydra’s mess. “Dammit, Bucky, you’re colder than my beer. Why are you doing this?” Bucky swallowed quickly, and wondered if this conversation was gonna become a regular feature of mealtimes now. Cause no matter how damned good the food was, he’d be eating cereal in his room for every meal from now on if Steve planned to keep bringing this up.

“Steve. I’m fine. Let it go.” The topic wasn’t as much of a shock that time, so Bucky was able to play it cool – sip his beer, take a bite of his sandwich, no coughing or wheezing. Still, he wanted the conversation done with, and now. “Your mama would be ashamed if she knew what you considered acceptable dinner conversation these days.” Grinning, he grabbed a slice of watermelon and hoped he could tease Steve out of his fixation. “Besides, didn’t anyone ever warn you that you could go blind from doing that? And why are you so worried about what goes on with my body anyway?” He happened to glance up as he said that, and caught Steve’s eyes taking a leisurely tour down his bare chest. What was _that_ about?

But Steve seemed to catch himself at the same moment, and his gaze snapped up to Bucky’s face. He was relentless once he got an idea in his head. “Have you talked to your therapist about this? I mean, maybe they could help you figure out why you can’t…” And _hell_ no, Bucky might want the conversation over with but there was no way he was letting _that_ assumption stand. “I _can_ , Steve. Christ, everything is in full working order. I just _don’t_. And I am not talking about it with you, or my therapist, or anyone else. The only people who should even be _thinking_ about my dick, much less talkin’ about it, are me and anyone who’s offering to touch it.” Polishing off his sandwich, Bucky carried his plate over to the dishwasher – _God bless dishwashers_ – and decided it might be a good idea to finish his beer in his bedroom.

“But Buck, don’t you think you should figure out why?” Bucky knew why. He knew exactly why, and maybe that made him a little bitter and a little scared so maybe he pushed back a little harder than he normally would have. “I just told you who gets to talk about my dick, Steve, and you’re still talking. You tryna’ make an offer?” That was maybe hitting a little too close to home for Bucky, but it shut Steve up for the moment. Bucky didn’t wait for an answer, just strolled away with his beer like the whole discussion didn’t bother him at all, and shut the bedroom door gently behind him.

******

It was too early to be awake, again. Bucky always woke up while it was still dark outside, and as always, he woke up achingly hard. It’d been that way ever since he hit puberty; Steve hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said that Bucky would jerk off every night. Usually he had just quietly taken care of things in the middle of the night, then rolled over and gone back to sleep. He hadn’t realized Steve had been listening, though – he’d fantasized about the possibility, sometimes just the idea of it had been enough to make him blow, but he’d never suspected that the little shit had been lying there only _pretending_ to sleep. Thinking about it now made his already hard dick stiffen even more, and Bucky couldn’t help but let out a low moan. Damn he needed to touch himself, to stroke and play and fondle and _fucking cum_. But he couldn’t, he didn’t dare.

Thanks to the enhanced cognitive function that had resulted from the serum, Bucky could remember every single minute that he’d been out of cryo in the past century. His memories of what he’d done as the Winter Soldier weren’t totally clear – the images were blurry and indistinct, but still, he remembered. Physiologically, there were things that had stayed the same the entire time; even as the Soldier, he’d woken up in the early hours of the morning with a damned erection. When he was alone – in the field, waiting for a target – the Soldier had handled that as efficiently as he’d handled his other physical needs. Coldly, calmly, no emotion involved; Bucky remembered those experiences no differently than he remembered eating or drinking or taking a leak. He’d gotten himself off, cleaned up, and gone back to sleep.

Bucky Barnes had never, ever been able to deal with sex that calmly. Even when he’d been with someone he didn’t really care too much about – and yeah, there’d been a few more of those than he was proud of – he was so goddamn _sensitive_ and it was like his dick was connected to his very soul. When Bucky got off, every single time was explosive; sometimes, his orgasms were practically _earth-shattering_. He’d seen stars, he’d blacked out, he’d stopped breathing – once, he’d panicked a girl so badly she’d almost called the cops before he was back in his body. Bucky just got absolutely absorbed when he came, he literally lost all control, and he knew it. When he’d jerked himself off in the bedroom he’d shared with Steve, he’d always stuffed his fist in his mouth when he knew he was about to go, because he had absolutely no control over the sounds he made even when it was just his own hand doing the work. Obviously that technique had failed, since Steve had apparently been awake and aware of some of those orgasms, and _he had to stop thinking about that_ because his dick actually _twitched_ at the idea.

He’d always loved the way he responded to pleasure, thought it was a damned gift. But now? Bucky was fucking terrified of it. Because losing control like that – losing himself – was _not an option_. He hadn’t touched his dick in that way, not once, since he had found his own mind again. Because what if he blacked out as Bucky Barnes and woke back up as the Winter Soldier? What if everything he remembered, every part of himself that he’d fought to reclaim, what if it all slipped away in that moment when he let himself go? And he had no idea how far he might drift, because if he’d been sensitive before, the way he could feel things now was off the charts. The serum had amped up all of his senses. When he was focused, he could control that to some degree – say, dialing his hearing _down_ so that he wasn’t overwhelmed by background noise. But getting off? The increased physical sensitivity combined with the loss of control might make it impossible for him to control _anything_ and push his response beyond anything he’d experienced in the past. Hell, Bucky wasn’t even entirely sure his heart wouldn’t stop. It was just too much of a goddamned risk.

Lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling in the dark with yet another erection so hard it hurt, he wondered, though. Wondered if he might be able to just…turn that off. Dial it down, the way he did his other senses when the input became overwhelming, and get himself off without _feeling_ it the way he always had. It wouldn’t be as good, but if he could deal with his damned dick more…clinically, the way he had as the Soldier, at least he could get some release. And he could always stop, right? If it seemed like he was feeling too much, getting too into it, he could literally just let go. The way his dick felt right now, he didn’t think anything he did could make the situation _more_ painful, so it was worth a damned try.

Before he could change his mind, Bucky tossed back the blankets and yanked off the boxer briefs he slept in these days. It had been a damned long time since he’d done this as himself, but he was not gonna be a coward, so after only a moment’s hesitation he reached down and gently wrapped his right hand around his swollen flesh. He hissed in a breath, because even that small amount of contact was fucking _amazing_ after denying himself for so long. Carefully, so carefully, he tightened his grip and started to stroke himself, biting his lip to hold in a moan because it felt _so damned good_. He’d always loved jerking himself off, sometimes even more than having a partner, because this way he got exactly what he wanted. And hell yes, his body remembered just what that was – tight, hard, strokes up and down the shaft, a little twist at the top, rubbing his thumb over the slit where _yeah, just like old times, he was dripping already_. In just minutes Bucky was panting , aching, sweating, and he knew it wouldn’t take much at all – just a few more strokes – to push himself over the edge. He could already feel the pleasure starting to pulse up into his brain and _goddamn he needed this it was gonna feel so good but can’t wake Stevie quick bite your hand to muffle the sounds_ and then he smacked himself in the mouth with a metal fist and a cold dose of reality.

Yanking his hand off his cock, gasping, Bucky lay there cursing his stupidity. That had been too close, he’d felt himself starting to slip away, felt the pleasure starting to take over, and he hadn’t stopped. It hadn’t been like the times as the Soldier, when his response had been just a biological function – it had been too damned good, and he’d been so close to going out of his mind. He’d wanted it too badly to control himself, and that was dangerous. Sitting up on the edge of the bed, he took a few deep breaths before grabbing his shorts and pulling them back on. It was only four thirty in the morning, but it looked like he was done sleeping. Resigned to another morning like all the others, Bucky stood up and headed for his usual cold shower.

******

When Bucky had finished cooling himself off, it was still too early for anyone else to be awake, so he headed down to the target range to try and work off some of his frustration. After an hour with his rifle and another hour practicing with the bow Clint had given him, he was still just as frustrated but figured it was late enough that Steve might be up. And Steve awake meant breakfast, which was something Bucky was not about to miss. Swiping his hand over the access panel, he entered their apartment and immediately smelled sausage – _score_ , Steve was up and already cooking. Heading straight for the kitchen, Bucky stopped dead in the doorway. Steve was cooking, alright – wearing nothing but a pair of cut-off sweatpants under the Tardis-print apron that Natasha had given him, joking that he was the ultimate time-traveler. His hair was still ruffled from sleep, making him look adorable and young in spite of the ripped physique on full display. He was flipping pancakes on the griddle and…talking to himself? Bucky was puzzled, and stepping closer, noticed the headphones in Steve’s ears with a cord trailing down to where his StarkPod must’ve been tucked in his pocket.

Still, that didn’t explain why Steve was talking to himself, so Bucky slipped even closer. With his headphones in, Steve didn’t notice Bucky creeping up behind him, even once Bucky was close enough to hear the words Steve was murmuring. “Combien ça coûte ?...Où sont les toilettes, s’il vous plaît ?...Bonjour, je voudrais une baguette, merci.” _How much does it cost?_ indeed, Steve – the answer might be Bucky’s sanity, because _damn_. He sucked in a breath and backed quickly out of the room without being noticed. Steve had mentioned wanting to pick up some more languages – he seemed a little envious of the ones Bucky had retained - but _holy hell_ was it hot to hear Captain America speaking in a foreign tongue. Between that, Steve’s ass in those sweat shorts, and that ridiculous messy-little-boy hair, Bucky needed to get the hell outta there before he said or did something that would make things very, very awkward between them. He took a final longing glance into the kitchen – Steve’s pancakes were almost as good as his French toast – and then glanced down to where his gym shorts were now impressively tented out. With a sigh, he headed for the bathroom and started the cold water. Looked like every meal was now doomed to be ruined by his dick.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve won't let the subject of Bucky jerking off drop, and he comes up with a brilliant plan to help his friend. In other words, Bucky is doomed.

They managed to go an entire week without any mention of Bucky jerking off, either during meals or any other time. Mostly, they were just too damned busy, off on one mission or another, to the point where they both collapsed into bed exhausted once they got home. Still, enough time had passed without Steve making mention of Bucky’s blue lips and chilled skin each morning that Bucky figured Steve had decided to drop the issue. Bucky was wrong.

When they had some downtime, one of Bucky’s favorite things to do was settle on the couch and watch movies. He had missed so much, and while he knew he’d never catch up, it was fascinating to try to understand the mindset of each decade through the films that had been made. Plus, the special effects just blew his mind every time. Stark had set up all the screens in the Tower to stream pretty much any movie, ever – all Bucky had to do was choose. Steve had bought him a small notebook so he could copy Steve’s habit of keeping a pop-culture to-do list. Tonight, he wanted something light, so he had flipped to his rom-com page and chosen _Pretty Woman_ , which Clint had insisted was required viewing.

“Steve? You gonna watch with me?” Bucky called out as he grabbed a handful of caramel corn. He’d always loved popcorn, but the variations he could get now were amazing. Last week, he’d had some drizzled in white and dark chocolate, and he planned to try the cinnamon bun flavor in his next delivery. While Steve’s cooking was the best, and pretty much all of the food in this century was amazing, Bucky reserved a special place in his heart for the sweets. He and Steve had never had a lot of money to waste on treats. When they bought food, they’d had to go for whatever would fill their bellies the most, so they’d stocked up on potatoes and chicken and apples instead of chocolate or ice cream. Now, thanks to a century’s worth of back pay, Bucky could afford to have whatever he wanted. And with his enhanced metabolism, he needed to take in at least twice as many calories as a normal guy his size – usually more, if they were training or in combat. Bucky was free to dive into the world of desserts without worrying about the cost or weight gain. He would get lost for hours scrolling through the options on Stark’s grocery delivery app, choosing candies and cakes and pies and pastries to try. Tonight, in addition to the caramel corn, he’d gone to his “sweets shelf” in the pantry and grabbed a couple boxes of Sam’s favorite movie-watching snack, Junior Mints, to test out.

“Steve?” Bucky called again. If he didn’t get his ass out there soon, Bucky was going to start the movie without him. They didn’t always watch together, but it was easier when he had someone who could at least try and explain some of the modern references, and they always had fun mocking the more ridiculous plotlines and costumes. Finally, Steve wandered in, freshly showered in a pair of sweats and a tight undershirt that showed off his perfectly muscled upper body. Bucky wondered if Steve had ever figured out that Tony’d instructed the laundry service to shrink all of his t-shirts; he was just glad Steve had never bothered to replace them.

Steve settled next to him on the couch; glancing at Bucky, he observed, “You still have some black around your eyes.” Hydra had always insisted that he either wear goggles or put black paint around his eyes on missions – basically, to prevent the possibility of anyone recognizing Bucky and triggering his memories. It was the one habit he’d hung onto; somehow, it made him feel more confident on missions, that little touch of camouflage. Bucky had showered as well, but apparently he’d missed some of the eyeblack. He shrugged – he’d take care of it later when he got ready for bed. Still watching him, Steve swallowed hard, then asked, “What are we watching tonight?” as he reached for the caramel corn. He didn’t have the same sweet tooth that Bucky did, but he’d usually try whatever snacks Bucky brought out for movie night. Bucky pulled up the movie description on screen, and Steve promptly choked on his caramel corn. “You want to sit down together and watch a movie about prostitution?”

The reaction seemed a little extreme, as did the way Steve was blushing. Sure, Steve hadn’t had a lot of sexual experience – hell, Bucky still wasn’t entirely sure he’d had _any_ – but he had never been a prude. If anything, Steve had been fascinated, eager for any details Bucky was willing to give when he would come home after a night out. Maybe it was the prostitution angle, not the sex, that bothered him? Again, Bucky shrugged. “Clint says it’s funny and sweet, and I’ve liked all the stuff he’s had me watch so far.” He pressed play, and Steve settled uncomfortably into his corner of the couch.

The movie was all that Clint had promised, at least the part that Bucky got to see. Steve waited until Edward and Vivian were kissing – Bucky wasn’t sure which of them he’d rather crawl into bed with, they were both gorgeous and sexy – before quietly dropping his bomb. “Are you never gonna do that again, either, Buck? Never going to have sex? Or is it just that you don’t want to take care of it yourself?” Bucky wasn’t startled that time; he just sighed and set down the box of Junior Mints he’d been devouring. (He’d have to remember later to tell Sam that they were delicious.)

“Steve, are you worried that I’m gaining weight?” Steve looked completely baffled, and _good_ , because Bucky shouldn’t be the only one feeling off-kilter. “Every time I try to put a bite of food in my mouth lately, you decide it’s a swell time to talk about me jerking off.” Startled, Steve seemed to think about it for a minute, then blushed and shook his head.

“Sorry, I didn’t plan…the only time we’re alone lately is when we’re eating, and this time it was just…” Steve nodded his head in the direction of the movie, where Hot and Hotter were frozen in a lip-lock they might never get to continue if Steve wouldn’t let go of this. “I’m worried about you. I thought maybe…” Steve stared at the floor now, unable to meet Bucky’s eyes. “I thought maybe, because of what happened, the things you did as the Soldier…that maybe you don’t feel like you deserve to” – Steve hesitated – “feel pleasure anymore.”

Well, shit. _Shit_. Steve had jumped to the one conclusion that would absolutely require Bucky to have this discussion with him. Because if Steve had decided that Bucky was feeling guilty, blaming himself, to the degree that he might deny himself pleasure – or worse, _punish_ himself for it – Steve would consider that an Issue That Could Not Be Ignored. Which meant eventually he’d raise his concerns with Bucky’s therapist, who’d pull him from the field and put him through weeks of intensive sessions to discuss his “tendencies towards self-hatred”. He’d be back on suicide watch and constantly monitored. Basically, Bucky had the choice of explaining his problem to Steve here and now, or having his shrink ask questions about it later.

Bucky closed his eyes and dropped his head against the back of the couch. The only way he was gonna get through this was if he didn’t have to watch Steve’s reaction. “It’s not that. I _want_ to, okay? But I can’t let myself be out of control like that. I lose my _mind_ , Steve – remember the time with that girl Jenny? When I blacked out? It took me so long to come out of it, she was crying ‘cause she thought I’d fucking _died_.” Bucky took a breath, plowed ahead, finished it. “I can’t risk it. Letting my mind go and then having the programming take over. I could start trying to kill people again.” There was complete silence, and as much as Bucky didn’t want to look, he had to know. He opened his eyes and rolled his head towards Steve.

Steve’s looked…stunned. Obviously, it had never occurred to him that this was a possibility that could be weighing on Bucky’s mind, while it was pretty much _all_ Bucky could think about when his dick got hard. Hopefully, now that he’d explained the problem, Steve would drop it. And Bucky could stop worrying about having his mealtimes turn into awkward conversations about masturbation. Grabbing the remote, he pressed play, figuring he’d watch the movie while Steve… processed, or whatever it was he was doing.

Bucky was never gonna get to finish the film though, because not five minutes later Steve paused it again. He had his serious face on, but he was staring down at his knees and blushing. “Buck, what if you had someone to keep things safe? To make sure that you couldn’t hurt anybody while you were out of control? ‘Cause I could do that – I _would_ do that – for you. Just be there, and make sure that when it was over, you were still” – Steve shrugged – “you.” Bucky wanted to launch an immediate protest over the ridiculousness of that idea, but it was hard for him to form words with the way his dick immediately sprang to life at the image Steve had presented. Getting himself off while Steve just, what, watched? Kept his eyes closed and listened? His brain had ceased to function, and he couldn’t speak. Which Steve seemed to interpret as “convince me.”

Steve turned to face him, still blushing, but meeting his eyes now. “It’s not like we weren’t doing that in the same room for years; we were always hearing each other. Wouldn’t be any different. It would make it safe for you to lose control – I’m strong enough that I could at least get you into restraints if I had to.” Oh crap, now Steve was talking about tying him up, and there was no _way_ Bucky’s dick wasn’t gonna give a happy leap of joy at _that_ idea. Luckily Steve was focused on Bucky’s face; if he’d looked down at all, he’d have seen just how damn much Bucky liked this plan. Which made it painful as hell that he had to shut it down, but he could think of at least sixteen different ways that could go bad just off the top of his head.

“Steve, no. I…” _want that a little too much_ “don’t think it would work with you there. Before, I always thought you were sleeping. Be different if you were there to keep an eye on me; it’d feel like I was performing for you.” _Which is such a fucking turn-on that I might lose my mind just imagining it._ Bucky worked to keep his breathing even and steady; if he had to get up right then and run for the shower, Steve would understand exactly what the conversation was doing to him.

Steve just looked at him, and _oh shit_ , Bucky was in trouble. He didn’t know what flavor of trouble, but he knew that look, had seen it a million times. It meant Steve had an idea, one that would seem brilliant but eventually land them in the hottest of hot water. And yet Bucky had never, ever been able to say no to that look – the earnestness, the genuine certainty that whatever he had in mind was gonna _help_ someone, the sheer excitement on Steve’s face at whatever plan he had devised. Bucky swallowed hard, waiting to find out just how he was gonna meet his doom.

“Buck…I’ll do it, too. If it’s not just you, if we’re both doing it, then you won’t feel like you’re on display, right? Cause I’ll be distracted. If I’m not paying attention, it’s no different than if I was asleep. But I’ll still be right there in the room in case you have a problem.”

Bucky had been right. He was doomed. Because there were _so many_ problems with Steve’s plan. If things went wrong, and Bucky disappeared into himself, what if Steve was busy cumming and the Soldier training took over at that moment and he hurt Steve? And even if Steve could restrain him physically, how the hell did he plan to pull Bucky’s mind back out again? It was, truly, one of the stupidest ideas ever. But he knew that wasn’t going to matter at all. Bucky had been able to restrain himself for months, to accept that he couldn’t have that kind of release. But what Steve was offering – the two of them, jerking off, together – that was more than Bucky could resist, no matter the risk. His could feel the instant he started to leak inside his shorts; his dick wanted this as badly as he did.

Looking at Steve, he slowly nodded in agreement.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky, sharing a bed in the dark, both jerking off. What could possibly go wrong?

Bucky wasn’t sure exactly where things were supposed to go from there. Should he drop his shorts and whip it out right then? Except he sure as hell didn’t want Steve to know that he was already hard as fuck just from talking about it. Maybe they were going to schedule a time to…except how did you schedule an erection? It seemed kind of stupid to work his dick up to being hard at a specific time just so he could get off. Yep, this was definitely one of the many problems with Steve’s plan – Bucky had no clue how they were gonna carry it out.

Steve, apparently, did. “My room or yours?” Bucky’s dick gave a happy little jump, because it looked like they were doing this _right now_. He thought about Steve’s question, though, because it actually did matter. Bucky’s room was his refuge, his own space, he was definitely more used to being in there – really, he’d almost never had a reason to go into Steve’s room. However, it was also the place where he’d woken up screaming from nightmares, where his memories of things he’d done as the Winter Soldier sometimes kept him lying awake all night. Steve’s room seemed more…pure, somehow. “Yours.” Steve hopped up off the couch and headed down the hallway, clearly expecting Bucky to follow. Bucky’s dick clearly expected him to follow, too – it was straining against the front of his shorts like it planned to follow Steve’s ass down that hallway on its own if Bucky didn’t get with the program. Unthinkingly, Bucky gave one quick rub, and barely held in his moan of pleasure. Even through his shorts, his dick was sensitive as all hell, and it felt _fucking amazing_. He jumped off the couch to follow Steve, because yeah…they were _doing_ this.

He found Steve standing in the doorway of his darkened bedroom, looking thoughtful. Glancing in, Bucky immediately saw the problem. Steve’s room was laid out pretty similarly to his own: king-sized bed, nightstand on each side, long dresser with a mirror on the wall above it. That was it for furniture. Stark had told them when they moved in that they could replace whatever they wanted – he’d gone with what he termed “luxury hotel generic” in furnishing the suites – but for a couple of guys who’d slept in much worse places, it had seemed silly to replace perfectly good stuff. Now, though, he could see Steve thinking that maybe they should’ve considered adding a couple of pieces.

“I could bring in a chair from the other room?” Steve offered. Bucky shook his head; neither one of them was gonna be able to get it off sitting in one of the wooden kitchen chairs. They _could_ head back out to the living room, which had a recliner and a big cozy armchair in addition to the couch, but…

“We’ve shared a lot of beds. Plenty of space on this one,” Bucky pointed out, holding himself perfectly still and watching Steve out of the corner of his eye. The idea of lying next to Steve, sharing the same bed, both of them touching themselves – _please let him say yes._ Steve shrugged and nodded, and Bucky would have sworn his cock couldn’t get any harder but it just kept proving him wrong. Then he was stuck again, though, because he didn’t know how to keep things moving forward.

Again, Steve took the lead, maybe because it was his room and his plan. He couldn’t know how much it turned Bucky on to watch him stroll towards the bed, all confidence and power as he yanked off his t-shirt and sweats, laying down in just his boxer shorts. Steve couldn’t possibly understand that he looked like the best kind of filthy invitation, one arm up and tucked behind his head while the other hand rubbed lazily back and forth across his abs. It was like a scene from one of the porn movies Bucky had discovered on his computer (for once, Stark’s sense of humor had been kind of welcome). Except instead of the dishwasher repairman stretching himself out in invitation, it was Captain fucking America looking just like every bored housewife’s wet dream.

It was an invitation Bucky wasn’t about to turn down, even if the one Steve was offering wasn’t exactly the one Bucky might hope for. Yanking off his own shirt and shorts, but leaving his boxer-briefs – apparently, they were saving those for later – he lay down on the other side of the bed. Took a deep breath, and let it out. How the hell did you start something like this? Bucky huffed out a strained laugh, then remembered – it was Steve lying next to him. Whatever else Bucky’s body might want, however strange the whole situation might be, they knew each other better than anyone else ever had or would. Turning his head to catch Steve’s eye, he just admitted it – “I dunno how to get this started without it being fucking awkward.”

Steve laughed too, and just like that, the tension was broken. It was just the two of them lying in a darkened room, same as it had always been. Bucky was reminded of so many nights when he’d come home from a date and crawled into bed then lain awake for an hour sharing every detail with Steve. As a rule, Bucky didn’t kiss and tell, but it was _Steve_ and that was different; plus, he’d known the poor guy was basically getting all his experience through Bucky’s stories. This felt like those nights – the two of them lying a few feet apart, just enough light to see each other’s faces, and sex on his brain like a burning itch he couldn’t scratch. And just like those nights, what he _really_ wanted – to crawl over and just _show_ Steve exactly what felt good to him – was not something he could have.

Still, he could have other things, and he was done with feeling shy. “Fuck it. Let’s do this.” Bucky lifted his hips and yanked his underwear off, tossing them towards the foot of the bed as Steve did the same. Bucky had to close his eyes to avoid giving himself away, because Steve’s naked body was perfection. They’d seen each other undressed plenty of times, first when they lived together and then during the war, so Bucky knew exactly what Steve looked like both before and after the serum. Still, it hit him like a punch to the gut how beautiful his friend was – all muscle and smooth skin and the biggest damned cock he’d ever seen, which had definitely gotten a boost from the serum. Bucky’s own dick had gone from what he considered better than average to almost intimidating after he’d been experimented on, but Steve…that was something else. Pre-serum, Steve had been what Bucky fantasized was the perfect mouthful; now, he thought he might dislocate his jaw trying to wrap his lips around that thing.

Just the thought of his tongue on Steve’s dick was enough to draw a low moan from Bucky, and his hand instinctively dropped to his own erection. Wrapping his fingers gently around himself, he gave a few loose, experimental strokes, and _yes, they were doing this_ and fuck, it felt good. He was honest enough with himself to admit it felt better than it should; that it wasn’t his hand on his dick making it that hot, but knowing that Steve was next to him, listening and maybe even _watching_. Whatever protest he’d made earlier, Bucky fucking loved that idea, had been so damned turned on when Steve had admitted to lying awake listening to him get off when they were kids. He kept his own eyes shut, but let himself fantasize that Steve’s were open and watching, that Steve was fascinated and turned on, and Bucky found himself putting on a show, just in case.

Wrapping his hand more tightly around his dick, Bucky began stroking himself fast and hard. He’d been leaking precum pretty much since they started talking about doing this, and now that became an advantage, letting his fist slide smooth and easy up and down his length. Each time he reached the tip, he gave a little twist, gliding his thumb up and over the slit to gather more lube before sliding back down. His breath was coming in fast and shallow, and he helplessly began to thrust his hips, bringing his dick up to meet his hand with each stroke.

Bucky heard Steve shift beside him, a quickly muffled moan, and then _oh god oh fuck yes_ the sound of Steve’s hand stroking himself. Sure, he’d heard that before, when he’d lain in their darkened bedroom and pretended to sleep and wondered what was wrong with him that listening to his best friend’s quiet panting was the hottest thing he’d ever experienced. Now, hearing those sounds while Steve _knew_ that Bucky was awake and listening and doing the same thing…it was a wonder Bucky didn’t blow right then. He knew it was risky, knew it could lead to Steve realizing things that Bucky had never wanted him to figure out, but he couldn’t help himself – he had to see.

Carefully opening his eyes just a slit, not daring to turn his head or look at Steve’s face, he glanced over to where Steve was touching himself. Thank fuck that Bucky was jerking himself off, because it gave him a good excuse for the groan that escaped him at the sight. Steve’s dick was huge and hard and perfect, but watching Steve’s strong hand slide up and down it was something else entirely. If the fangirls on the internet could see this, they’d bump Captain America to the top of their “Sexiest Avenger” lists in a heartbeat. Steve was stroking himself slowly, loosely – just playing, really. Unlike Bucky, he probably _had_ gotten off in the last six months, so his motions didn’t have the same urgent, frantic quality; he was just enjoying the sensation of flesh on flesh. It was the most beautiful thing Bucky could remember seeing, and it made him start pulling faster and harder on his own dick.

It was hard to believe he was doing this – not just with Steve, but touching himself _at all_ , and that he would actually get to _finish_ because Steve was there to keep things safe. Groaning, Bucky began fucking his fist so hard and fast it was almost painful, needing to find release and _now right fucking now_ because it had been so goddamn long. It wouldn’t be much longer though; he could tell from the way his heart started beating faster and his balls began to tighten up and his breath was coming in short, frantic pants. Even with all that to distract him, his sensitive hearing picked up the changes from the other side of the bed. Steve had increased his pace and Bucky could hear every damned stroke and the way that Steve was panting in pleasure and letting out soft moans now, too. God, was it possible Steve was watching – listening – and getting turned on by what Bucky was doing? Even the idea was a fucking _dream_ , and it made Bucky start to shake, pushed him towards the edge, but no _oh fuck no_ he could feel himself slipping, feel himself start to slide away, and _what if he didn’t come back what if he couldn’t hang on to himself_... He knew the whimper that tore from his throat sounded terrified, helpless, and he hated himself for it, for the fear, for the way his hand slowed down because he couldn’t do it, couldn’t risk it.

Then there was movement and suddenly Steve was right next to him, a soft voice in his ear murmuring, “I’m here, Buck. Not gonna lose you. You’re safe…I’ll keep you safe. Let go.” A hand, at first on his arm but Steve was on his left and seemed to realize his mistake because Bucky could feel that touch, but not really. The hand moved, shifted to his chest, a gentle pressure to ground him but that was _Steve’s_ hand, Steve lying next to him and they were both fucking naked and hard and it was Steve’s thumb accidentally brushing his nipple and it was _so fucking on target_ for every fantasy Bucky had ever had. It wasn’t the reassurance and the safety that let Bucky relax his control; it was Steve, touching him and talking to him and letting Bucky imagine, just for an instant, that it meant so much fucking more than it did.

He knew he shouted – had no idea what, but heard his own voice coming hoarsely from his throat. His hips thrust up into his hand and _now now now_ and then hot spurts all over his hand and chest…cumming harder and more powerful than he ever had before, losing all fucking control, the orgasm lasting forever and then longer. Bucky felt himself drifting away, further and further from his body and he knew he ought to be scared, ought to be fucking _terrified_ but Steve’s hand on his chest was like a tether, keeping him tied to himself and he knew no matter how far he floated, Steve would pull him back. Steve would always pull him back, he knew that, so Bucky let go.

He had no idea how long it had been. The sweat hadn’t dried on his skin, and his muscles were still jerking in occasional spasms like he’d been shocked. He had, in a way – he’d never cum that hard, never in all the times he’d had sex. Slowly, he became aware of his surroundings. Still dark, the cool air blowing over his skin a contrast to the hot, damp sheets underneath him. And then, yeah, there it was – the thing that was keeping him anchored. Steve’s hand rubbing gently back and forth across his chest, his deep voice whispering quietly in Bucky’s ear. It took him a moment – maybe longer, maybe an hour, he had no idea – to be able to process the words.

“It’s okay, Buck. I’m here. I’ve got you. Come back.” Steve sounded confident, certain, not at all worried about who might be waking up next to him. And the damned punk had been right, it had worked, having Steve there with him, because Bucky didn’t feel even a trace of the programming that he knew was still hiding somewhere in his brain. It was all him, all Bucky, and he felt fucking _amazing_. Relaxed and amped up all at the same time, the way he had always felt after great sex. He wanted to jump up and shout but he also wanted to curl up and cuddle and _oh hell no_ that was an impulse he was gonna have to bury deep.

Turning his head and opening his eyes finally, he met Steve’s gaze. “Yeah. Still me. I’m here.” Bucky waited for a grin and an “I told you so,” but instead Steve just looked at him, his expression completely indecipherable. They stayed like that for a minute, just staring into each other’s eyes, long enough for Bucky to realize a few important things. First, that Steve’s hand was still on his chest – no longer moving, but there, a reassuring presence. Second, that Steve had _not_ finished, and his cock was pressed hard as steel against Bucky’s hip. And finally, that what Bucky had shouted when he came might have resembled the words, “Oh fuck oh Steve!”

Bucky swallowed, licked his lips nervously, and that broke whatever spell they were under as Steve’s gaze snapped to his mouth. Then Steve practically threw himself off the bed, grabbing his boxers off the floor. As he headed out the door to the bathroom, he tossed over his shoulder, “Told you it would work. See you at six for a jog before breakfast?” 

Bucky heard the shower start up again, and thought that the only way Steve could have made his feelings any clearer was if he had actually said, I expect you gone from my room when I get back. Sitting up, Bucky used the top sheet to clean himself off, then began stripping the linens from the bed. The least he owed Steve was some clean sheets. As he moved, he could feel the way his muscles responded differently, languidly, six months worth of tension finally released. As good as it all felt, though, he couldn’t help but wonder why he felt so much like crying.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky can't figure out the etiquette for having accidentally shouted your best friend's name while you were jerking off together, especially when what you want most in the world is to do it again. Also, they eat more food.

Bucky couldn’t believe he’d slept straight through until five thirty a.m. and woken up with his dick still limp and happy. That didn’t happen to him, not ever – he always woke up sometime before dawn, hard as a rock. He was kind of surprised he’d slept at all. After putting fresh sheets on the bed and beating a hasty retreat while Steve was still in the shower, Bucky had expected to lie awake all night, thinking. Instead, his body had apparently decided to be grateful for the release and it had given him a break in return. Happy with the small miracle of not needing to start his morning under ice-cold water, he hopped out of bed and rummaged for some jogging shorts and a t-shirt. Things were gonna be awkward as hell until Bucky came up with an explanation for shouting his best friend’s name as he came, but he knew it’d only be worse if he tried to delay seeing Steve by skipping their jog. Steve had realized a long time ago that Bucky only avoided things that mattered to him, so if Bucky hid in his room now, it’d be like waving a sign saying, “Hey! This is a big deal!” The last thing he wanted was to draw even more attention to his mistake.

Slipping from his room, Bucky headed straight for the coffeemaker in the kitchen. Thanks to the serum, the caffeine wouldn’t have any effect on him, but there was still something comforting and nostalgic about starting the morning with a hot cup of joe. He sipped his while waiting for Steve to wake up, but before his roommate appeared, Bucky answered a knock on their door to find Sam Wilson in the hallway.

“Hey man, how’s it going?” Sam was the only person Bucky’d ever met who might beat Steve in a competition for “most cheerful morning person,” and normally that would make him want to growl and slam the door in his face. But that morning, Bucky was grateful Sam had shown up because it would buy him some time. There was no way he and Steve would be talking about what had happened the night before with Sam there as a buffer. If Sam went along on their run, Bucky’d have a good hour to figure out what to say, what explanation he could give that would not only keep Steve from probing too deeply into his shouts but – maybe – leave him willing to do it again sometime.

That was something Bucky wanted now, desperately. He’d spent years – basically every shared minute since they hit puberty – wanting Steve Rogers, and what they’d done the night before had only sharpened that desire. Now that he’d had a taste, Bucky was desperate for more. Hungry for the sound of Steve stroking himself, the breathless pants and the wet slide of his hand up and down his cock. The images he’d glimpsed from beneath his carefully lowered lashes were seared into his brain. Bucky would have been happy to just sit and watch Steve jerk himself off forever, but obviously his own masturbation was gonna be required to get Steve to participate. Bucky was more than willing to step up to the plate for that; he just needed to get Steve at ease with the idea again. His friend’s hasty retreat to the bathroom had to have been because he was uncomfortable hearing his own name slip from Bucky’s mouth when he came. Sam’s perfectly-timed appearance would give Bucky the chance to think up a reason for that other than, “I’ve wanted to fuck you since we were boys, Steve, and having your hand on me while I jerked off was just too hot.”

Realizing that he was just standing in the doorway, holding his coffee and staring at Sam while he thought about Steve’s perfect cock, Bucky backed up and gestured for their friend to come in. “You want some coffee?” he offered. “I dunno where sleepyhead is, but he should have his ass out of bed soon. Supposed to jog at six.” Abruptly, Bucky grasped that Sam must have already known that, or he wouldn’t have been at their door that early and dressed for running in shorts and a tank top. And the only way Sam could have known to join them for a jog was if…”I guess Steve called you?” Which meant Steve was hoping to delay any awkward chats, too.

Sam nodded. “Yes, to the phone call _and_ the coffee, thanks. Cap said you guys were gonna do Central Park today. One of my favorites.” That was news to Bucky, who usually just ran laps around the many floors of Avengers Tower or hopped on one of the machines in the gym. Pouring another cup of coffee for Sam, he glanced at his metal hand and considered whether he ought to go change his shirt. He still wasn’t comfortable with the stares he got from people when they saw the arm for the first time. When he left the Tower, he usually hid it under long sleeves and added a glove to his left hand. But it was gonna be hot that day – even as early as it was, if he changed out of his t-shirt, he’d be dying by the time they finished their run. This very problem was the reason he usually did all of his exercising _inside_ the Tower, where everyone had already gotten used to him and his prosthetic. What the hell was Steve thinking – Central Park? Unless maybe the idea was to give Bucky something else to worry over so he’d be too distracted to talk to Steve about last night.

If anything, it had the opposite effect – worrying about what to say to Steve made Bucky decide that he could not care less what a bunch of strangers in the park thought about him. They could stare all they liked; he needed to focus on getting just the right lie figured out. Or not a lie, really – just a different truth than the one that was _most_ true, which was that the previous night had been a fantasy come to life for him. Handing a mug of coffee to Sam, Bucky gestured towards the fridge. “Cream’s in the door, sugar in the canister by the stove. If you take it that way.” Bucky’s lips lifted in a challenging smirk as he sipped his coffee black, pretty much daring Sam to do the same, but Sam just laughed.

“Man, I only drink this stuff with enough sugar in it to make me forget what it tastes like. I got no problem admitting that.” Sam proceeded to practically overflow his mug with sugar, taking his first sip just as Steve finally wandered in. He looked tired, rushed, and kind of…flustered? He’d obviously rolled out of bed, tossed on his workout clothes, and headed straight for the coffeemaker without even stopping to run a comb through his hair. When he barreled right past Sam without saying good morning, intent on grabbing a mug from the cabinet, Sam shot Bucky an inquisitive look. Bucky just shrugged, because really, he had no clue. Steve was a morning person, always had been, and there’d been a lot of days that Bucky had wanted to crawl back in bed just to escape Steve’s relentless cheer. This guy who looked like he was coming off an all-night drunk was something new. Maybe Steve had spent the night tossing and turning, trying to figure out how to handle the awkwardness? If that was the case, Bucky was doubly glad for Sam’s presence, because he sure wasn’t gonna be ready for a full-on “serious discussion” with Captain America until after he’d finished his coffee.

By the time they got out the door, Steve had woken up enough to respond to Sam with something other than grunts, and their run was happily uneventful. Bucky and Steve had to tone it down of course, making it less of a workout for them but letting Sam keep up. Bucky got some startled looks, like he’d expected, but he was surprised by how absorbed people were in their own little worlds and for the most part nobody even glanced twice. He thought he might try exercising outside of the Tower more often. In the meantime, though, he had let Sam and Steve jog ahead and carry the weight of the conversation.  He needed to work out what he would say after Sam took off, and besides, the view from behind those two was excellent. By the time they’d made the full loop back to their place, Bucky was as ready as he was gonna be, and he figured it was about damn time _he_ took a turn at ruining a meal.

***

Taking a bite of his bacon and brie omelette, Bucky almost reconsidered. It’d be a shame to let any kind of drama mar his enjoyment of that culinary masterpiece, and when paired with the perfectly crisped hash browns that Steve had dished up, it was a meal that deserved to be savored (or quite possibly worshipped). But Steve had been so very carefully filling in every silence with meaningless chatter that it was obvious things were going to be weird between them until they _really_ talked. For sure Bucky wouldn’t get another chance at getting off with Steve unless they settled the awkwardness from the night before. His only option was to jump in and hope he didn’t sink.

“Steve…about what happened last night.” Bucky held back a wince, ‘cause he sounded so dramatic when what he wanted was to downplay everything. Still, he had Steve’s attention – his best friend had stopped mid-sip, setting down his glass of orange juice and his fork. Best just to plow ahead. “I gotta say thanks. That was…I never would’ve thought of doing that.” _Liar, liar…_ he just never would have thought it could actually _happen_. “Figured I just had to go without, you know? So that was…yeah. A relief.” And now for the delicate part. “Sorry if I made it weird – when something great happens, I guess I’m just used to callin’ out to let you know. Like when I beat my high score on a video game, and I shout for you, right? Looks like my damn brain didn’t see a difference between me hitting a new distance with my rifle and me finally getting off – first instinct is ‘gotta tell Steve!’ no matter what.” Bucky let out a laugh to cover his nerves – _see look, Steve, it’s funny, let’s joke about it._ He played it cool, taking a bite of his breakfast like the whole discussion was no big deal while he waited for Steve to respond.

To Bucky’s relief, Steve laughed – and looked a little relieved himself. “Yeah, I figured. Glad I could help. But I get why you were worried – you were pretty far gone for a while there.” Steve resumed drinking his orange juice, and that had to be a sign that he was okay with things. Bucky started to relax – maybe everything was fine – until Steve continued. “Think after last night you’re okay on your own? Or do you still need me there to keep you grounded?”

 _Shit_. How the hell was he supposed to answer a direct question like that? _“Gee, Steve, I think you’d better hold my hand – or my dick – every time from now on. Just in case?”_   Plus, he hadn’t actually thought about what would happen if Steve decided once was enough. _Could_ he do it on his own? Bucky remembered the sensation of drifting away, only Steve’s touch keeping him connected to reality. Did he dare chance that without Steve to pull him back?

Then it was Steve’s touch, Steve’s voice, bringing him back to reality again. “Buck. _Bucky_. Let go of the fork, Buck.” With a start, Bucky realized that Steve was gently trying to uncurl the fingers of his flesh-and-blood hand, where he held his fork in a death grip like he might have to defend himself with it at any minute. Dropping the silverware to the table, Bucky resisted the urge to turn his hand over and link his fingers with Steve’s, but he was grateful that his friend didn’t immediately pull away. “ _Hey_. I wasn’t saying you have to go it alone, okay?  Just want it to be your decision. You need me with you, you come knock on my door any night. I’m there, no problem, no questions, Buck.” Steve looked sincere, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, and Bucky found he could breathe again.

 “I…yeah. I think I need that? Just until…until.” Until what? Until he wasn’t afraid of turning into a murderer as soon as he shot his load? Until he got over his lifelong fascination with his best friend? Bucky had no idea at what point he’d be able to walk away from Steve’s offer – if ever – but what mattered was that he didn’t have to do it _yet_. He was gonna get another chance to live out his fantasies, maybe a few more times, and he planned to savor every damn second and hoard those memories for the day when Steve decided enough was enough. With a deep breath, he pulled his hand from Steve’s and picked up his fork, then met Steve’s worried gaze. “I’m good now. Really. And I’ll take you up on that. But right now, I’m gonna finish this omelet while the cheese is still gooey.” Taking a bite, Bucky found that food tasted even better when your best friend had just offered to jerk off with you indefinitely. Maybe Steve had been on the right track when he’d decided that meal times were for talking about your dick.

***

Bucky didn’t get the chance to go to Steve’s room that night, or any of the next six nights. Seemed like someone had decided it was the season for crazed scientists attempting to obtain biological weapons, and as the people most likely to survive exposure to any of those agents, he and Steve were hopping all over the globe trying to stem the tide. Some nights they didn’t even end up in the same country, and when they did, they were so damned tired they’d wake with just enough time to shower, wolf down some food, and do it all again. When there was no time for even his usual cold shower, Bucky’d learned to just ignore his hard-on until it went away, and it would go away pretty fast when he was trying to prevent someone from weaponizing the Spanish Flu.

Eventually, the craziness eased up and he found himself sharing pizza – homemade, of course – with Steve in front of the TV. It was always so damned comfortable when it was just the two of them. Bucky would have said it felt like old times, except in a lot of ways, it was better than that. He didn’t have to worry about Steve anymore, which was ironic considering they spent most of their time actively seeking out some of the worst people (and non-people) the world had to offer. But Steve had always thrown himself in harm’s way to protect people or stand up for what he believed in; the difference now was that he was almost guaranteed to _survive_ it. Before the serum, even one wrong punch could have meant the end for Steve. Hell, getting wet in an unexpected storm was nearly a death sentence when they were young. These days Bucky could rely with near-perfect certainty on the fact that Steve would still be alive the next day, and the one after that. And however hard they might have to work at times, however sore and tired he might be, at least they weren’t working in a desperate attempt to earn enough cash to cover the rent and Steve’s medicines and still somehow have enough left over for food. Sitting together, marathoning _Friends_ and working their way through the pizzas Steve had whipped up (with three types of cheese and four varieties of mushrooms and “artisanal” pepperoni), Bucky was content. He couldn’t help feeling like the life they had now was a huge improvement over the days in Brooklyn when he’d wondered every morning if that would be the day if that he’d fall short, the day his efforts wouldn’t be enough to keep Steve safe and alive. Made him a little less whiny about all the new bruises on his body that would fade fast anyway, and a little more grateful for everything he had.

The number one thing he was grateful for was the guy curled up at the other end of the couch, laughing over something Chandler had said in a way that made his whole face light up. Bucky couldn’t help it; he found himself constantly sneaking peeks out of the corner of his eye. Steve looked banged up and tired, but he was alert and smiling and eating his dinner like they hadn’t just spent the better part of a week getting their asses kicked. Did that mean he wasn’t _too_ tired? Would he be up for it, literally and figuratively? Bucky had no way to tell. He didn’t want to come off too eager –  to make Steve feel pressured, or give away how damn bad he wanted it.

Bucky had flirted plenty; that was easy, or it had been once upon a time. But his old moves were useless here because he wasn’t trying to get Steve to have sex with him. He didn’t know the damned etiquette for how you determined if your best friend’s offer for simultaneous jerking-off was still open, and if that friend might be in the mood to do such a thing _right fucking now_. It was uncharted territory, and he was gonna have to wing it.

“Steve?” Oh damn, his voice sounded kinda hoarse and needy, like they’d been going at it for hours. Steve didn’t seem to notice though, just letting out a curious “mmm?” without looking away from the TV. Bucky plowed ahead, ‘cause if he stopped now he might never get the guts to start again. “Y’know that thing we did…talked about…last week? Before all the missions.” Steve looked his way then, brow furrowed and eyes puzzled, but something in Bucky’s expression must have clued him in to the topic at hand because he immediately choked on his pizza. And _hell_ , it hadn’t even occurred to Bucky that yet again, they were in the middle of eating. Were their dicks connected to their stomachs somehow? They took a bite of food and immediately thought about getting off? He shook that thought off and reversed course. “Sorry buddy, didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner. We can talk later.”

Steve shook his head, set his plate down on the coffee table. “Awww hell, Buck, I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about it and it’s been like…a week? Shit. Do you need to…?” Steve was already levering himself off the couch, pizza and TV forgotten. Bucky had to laugh, shaking his head a little bit.

“I’m not gonna die, Stevie. It’s just a hard-on. You can finish your dinner.” To demonstrate, he took another bite of his own pizza before continuing. “Yeah, I wanna, but it’s not like I haven’t waited a week already. I think I can last through the end of the episode.” Steve looked uncertain, but the last thing Bucky wanted was to make it obvious how badly he wanted this, so he just kept eating his pizza – definitely not a hardship – and fixed his gaze on the screen – also not a hardship, given how hot the cast of _Friends_ was. Seeming reassured, Steve picked up his plate and continued his meal. And if Bucky was having some trouble keeping track of the plot and swallowing his food, well, he might be able to hide his nervousness and anticipation from Steve but he sure as hell couldn’t lie to his own body.

It was either the longest episode or the shortest episode of _Friends_ they’d ever watched; Bucky couldn’t decide. He’d been ready to crawl out of his skin for what seemed like hours, but once the show ended and Steve turned off the TV, Bucky felt that same awkwardness return. Should he get up first? Just shove his shorts down there on the couch? This time, it was Steve who laughed. “You look like you’re gettin’ sent to the principal’s office. C’mon, Buck…doesn’t have to be weird. Just something you need help with right now. When have we ever _not_ been there if the other one needed something?” Steve grabbed their plates and headed for the kitchen, so Bucky followed with their glasses and the leftover pizza. If Steve could be relaxed about this, so could he. His dick didn’t much agree with that assessment, but it was gonna have to be patient and wait until dinner was cleaned up.

Food and dishes dealt with, they headed down the hall, but when Steve turned for his own door, Bucky found words slipping out before he even realized he meant to say them. “Wait…my room this time.” Steve just shrugged and changed course for the other bedroom. Bucky wasn’t sure why he’d said that, except…yeah, he kinda was. He wanted Steve in his room. Wanted to replace the nightmares and bad memories with the sounds of Steve stroking his cock. Wanted to roll over in the night and smell Steve – shampoo and sunshine and mint and everything familiar – on the other pillowcase. Bucky wanted that, to fill his room with every bit of Steve he could get while he had the chance, to make it a little less lonely in there when the day came that they stopped doing this. He was gonna store up memories like treasures in his own personal vault, to take out and look at whenever he wanted.

Walking through the door, Bucky fucking _knew_ this would be an image he’d never forget. Steve Rogers on his bed – well, that was something he’d seen hundreds of times before, but it never got old. Steve Rogers on his bed, bare-ass naked, lying on his back with his knees bent, eyes closed, waiting for him – that was a new one, but Bucky was pretty fucking sure that sight would never get old, either. Steve had apparently decided to ditch the underwear from the start this time, and never let it be said that Bucky didn’t follow Captain America’s lead. When he laid down next to Steve, Bucky was naked and dripping and already reaching for his cock with a relieved groan.

“Shit, Buck, I’m sorry about this week. I mean, we didn’t have a choice, but I’m sorry.” Steve hand was between own legs now, stroking slowly. His eyes were still closed, so if Bucky was cautious, he could look his fill. He’d go through a thousand weeks like that if it meant a chance like this; Steve was fucking beautiful. His hand was strong and sure and confident, pulling on his dick like it was simultaneously the most relaxing and the most pleasurable thing in the world. Bucky began jerking off, too, and he found himself matching his strokes to Steve’s, imagining that it was Steve’s other hand on his dick, that his best friend was getting them both off together. That image got Bucky flying so high so fast even he was surprised; he knew he’d been needy, but hell, this was pretty close to an instant orgasm. Just like always, he felt his grasp on reality starting to slip, and just like the last time, there was only one thing he trusted to keep him together.

“Steve, I…” Steve’s eyes snapped open at the tone in Bucky’s voice, and he met his friend’s gaze. Bucky couldn’t seem to stop himself, couldn’t send the signal from his brain to his hand that he _needed to let go of his dick right now_ ; his body wanted this too badly and had apparently decided to tell his brain to fuck off. Bucky was scared, more than he’d expected to be. He’d thought after coming through okay the last time that he had more confidence in himself to not relapse, but turned out the deepest parts of him were gonna need a lot more reassurance than one good experience. He fucking hated himself for the fear that must be in his eyes, wished he could look away, but at the same time if there was any person on earth that Bucky trusted with his fear, it was Steve.

And Steve was there for him, always there. Letting go of his own cock, turning towards Bucky, all reassurance and calm and...love. Yeah, love – maybe not the kind Bucky wanted, but he had no doubt that Steve loved him, probably more than anyone else ever had or would. He let himself sink into the love in those blue eyes, get lost in Steve instead of in his own head, barely even registering it when Steve put a hand on his shoulder this time. “Already? Damn, Buck…” Steve was smiling at him, he fucking loved Steve’s smile, had spent so many hours of his life just trying to pull a smile outta that guy. “I’m here. Relax, nothing bad’s gonna happen. I’m here. You can let go, Bucky. I’m always gonna bring you back. I’m here.” Steve blinked, and dimly Bucky registered that his eyes hadn’t changed; they were one of the few parts of Steve’s body that was still exactly as Bucky remembered from before the serum. More than that, the way Steve looked at him had never changed, either – not when Steve became Captain America, not when Bucky became so much worse than that; the love in Steve’s eyes had never faltered. Bucky could let go, he trusted him, it was Steve, always Steve, and he let himself go staring into those eyes that he’d known forever, the eyes that would always see _him_ no matter what he became.

It was faster that time, the recovery. Less intense or maybe just cause it’d only been a week since the last round. Whatever; Bucky didn’t feel nearly as out-of-it and he was sure he didn’t lose much time. Certain it was only minutes before his breathing was evening out and he was still looking into Steve’s eyes when he swam up out of the depths. There was no concern there, still just that same love and – okay, a hefty dose of amusement. “You back with me?” Bucky just nodded; he might be breathing again but he sure as hell wasn’t able to talk yet. “Don’t think I’ve seen you go off that fast since that night Betty Thompson teased you the whole time we were at the fair, then headed home with her sister instead.” Then Steve was hopping up out of the bed, grabbing his boxers and yanking them on over his still-hard cock. “Wake me up if you need me again, okay? ‘Night, Buck.” He was out the door before Bucky could even think to respond.

Bucky rolled on his back, grabbing his own underwear off the floor and using them to wipe his belly clean before tossing them in the direction of the dirty laundry hamper. He hadn’t said anything to weird Steve out this time, he was sure of it, so it had to be the whole situation making him nervous. It would get better with time, right? Time – yeah, Bucky had to chuckle a little at that thought, cause Steve was right. He’d gone off like a boy getting’ his cock touched for the first time. Just like that night with Betty, when she’d gotten him so worked up that as soon as he and Steve had made it home, Bucky’d shut himself in the bedroom and yanked his pants down. It had only taken five, maybe six strokes before he’d been shooting all over his hand, biting his other fist to stifle his moan.

Bucky’s last thought as he drifted off to sleep was, _how the hell did Steve know about that?_

***

Evil decided to stay silent for a few days – Bucky wasn’t delusional enough to think it ever took a break – so they were able to stick around New York, take care of boring stuff like briefings and fun stuff like testing new equipment. Most importantly, to Bucky’s mind, it meant that he and Steve spent every evening relaxing in their apartment instead of on opposite sides of the world. One night Clint and Sam dropped by to play poker – everyone refused to let Nat in the game, because she was unbeatable.  The next night, they headed up to the screening room for movie night and Bucky found himself tearing up over _The Princess Bride_. But mostly, it was Steve and Bucky, the way it had always been. And no matter what they did in the evening, once it was lights-out, Steve followed Bucky back to his bedroom.

Somehow, it became their routine without becoming _routine_. Tossing off their clothes, sprawling on the bed, stroking their dicks while Bucky tried desperately not to get caught watching Steve, adoring at Steve, wanting Steve – even though they did the same damn thing every night, it never once lost its power over Bucky. He wanted it, craved it, waited all day for it. And once the moment came, yeah, that was about the best he’d ever felt, with Steve’s hand always somewhere on him, listening to that voice in his ear murmuring, “I’ve got you Buck, let go, I’m here.” Bucky couldn’t imagine anything better than that instant of pure bliss, because there was no orgasm on earth like the ones he could have with Steve touching him. It was perfect.

Or it would have been, except it was pretty obvious that Steve didn’t feel the same way. Bucky had lost that awkward feeling by the third round, no longer hesitated before yanking off his clothes. If he was nervous about anything, it was that Steve would figure out what he felt, or that he’d lose himself to the Winter Soldier again, and it probably said something about him that Bucky couldn’t decide which possibility scared him more. Steve, though – he started off confident, never missed a beat when he’d hop up from the couch and head down the hall. Stripped off his clothes, started touching himself like it was no big deal, never hesitated at all to grab Bucky and talk him through it once he got close. But afterwards? Steve would light outta there like the bed was on fire as soon as he felt like Bucky was safe, never finishing, sometimes not even bothering to yank his drawers back on before he ran back to his room.

It was clear that Steve was willing to do whatever it took to help Bucky, but it was equally clear that he was _not_ comfortable with what was happening. And after a week of that, Bucky couldn’t do it anymore. Wasn’t worth it. He couldn’t put Steve in that position, couldn’t use him like that if it was gonna make him feel bad. Wasn’t doing wonders for Bucky’s ego, either. He knew it was stupid, they weren’t together _like that_ , but having someone pretty much flee from your bed each night was a little demoralizing.

So the next night when they finished playing Jenga – which was at least a three-hour battle when both the players had chemically enhanced reflexes – Bucky headed off to bed alone, telling Steve, “Nah, I’m good right now. I’ll wake you up if I need to, ‘kay?” He wouldn’t though, and he didn’t. Woke up at four a.m. with his usual hard-on, but just rolled over and waited for it to go away. He couldn’t keep doing what he was doing with Steve, but if he started up with the cold showers again, Steve would insist on helping him. Instead, he was gonna have to just wait his dick out each night. That was still better than watching Steve run away from him. He kept that up for a couple days, and Steve didn’t question anything; seemed like as long as he didn’t turn up for breakfast with blue lips, Steve was gonna believe things were okay. Bucky knew eventually he’d have to do something other than lie awake and whimper – was ready to think about grabbing some ice water from the kitchen before Steve woke up – but figured he’d pull off the charade for as long as possible.

As it turned out, it wasn’t Bucky’s fault when he was forced into action. He woke hard and aching, as always, but he still wasn’t gonna to go to Steve –  settled instead for touching himself, just lightly, just enough to tease but not ease. Until he heard the familiar thrashing and moans coming from the room next door that signaled a nightmare. For months when he’d first arrived, the nightmares had been Bucky’s, always his, and he’d found himself waking from sleep to the sound of Steve’s voice coming from the doorway. No sudden moves, never touching, always conscious that Bucky’s first instinct might be to kill. Gradually, though, the nightmares had eased and so had Steve’s wariness. Nowadays when Bucky woke up from some horrific memory, it was to find Steve sitting on the edge of the bed, gently shaking his shoulder. As often as not, he’d fall back asleep crying in Steve’s arms. Sometimes, though – rarely, thank God, but sometimes – it was Steve with the nightmares. Steve who dreamt of crashing a plane into ice, or raiding Hydra bases with the Commandos, or watching his best friend falling into an abyss. Steve’s version of the serum had enhanced his mind in ways that meant those memories played out perfectly, in full color, not dulled in any way by time. During the day, Steve could force all of that to stay buried, but at night…sometimes if he slept deeply enough, the demons came out to play. Hearing Steve’s bed thunk against the wall, Bucky knew that it was a demon night, and that was more than enough to force him out of his own room and into Steve’s.

He’d been right; Steve was thrashing in his twisted and sweaty sheets, flailing as though he were doing battle in his sleep. Bucky even saw a few shield-throwing movements; using the shield was so ingrained in Steve now it was almost an extension of his body. He knelt in the empty spot on the bed and called Steve’s name a few times, trying to ease him back to consciousness before touching him. Bucky had figured out the first time this happened that Steve, too, could wake up fighting. This time, though, Steve woke quickly and fully, the confusion in his eyes fading in an instant once he spotted Bucky.

“Shit. Buck, I’m sorry…didn’t mean to wake you.” Steve sighed, sitting up against the headboard as he dragged his hands across his face.

Bucky ignored the apology, which was obviously both unnecessary and stupid. Of course he’d be there for Steve anytime, day or night. “Was already awake. Bad one this time?” Steve dropped his head back against the wall with a choked laugh, then seemed to focus on Bucky’s words. Lifting his head, he actually _looked_ at Bucky, taking in the fact that his friend was kneeling on the bed completely naked and hard as a rock. Bucky shrugged, unwilling to be embarrassed – they’d seen each other nude often enough that tossing on clothes while Steve was in distress and needing his help had seemed like a silly waste of time.

“Bucky. Why…? I mean, I told you to wake me up anytime.” Steve looked perplexed, a little miffed, maybe hurt? But what he didn’t look was panicked or upset about his nightmare any longer, so Bucky figured he’d take one for the team; they could talk about his dick if it meant distracting Steve. Besides, by that point he was almost getting used to his hard-ons being a regular topic of conversation. Wouldn’t surprise him anymore if Steve brought it up during a team meeting.

He settled back against the headboard next to Steve, yanked the sheet over his lap. They might be talking about his cock but they sure as hell didn’t need a visual aid. “Yeah, you told me to wake you up. But you’re not…it’s pretty clear you’re not _that_ okay with it when you run outta the room afterwards like you’re bein’ chased by an angry husband with a shotgun. Told you before we started doing this, I don’t _have_ to get off. I can live without it. Rather skip it than make you feel weird.” Bucky shrugged, closed his own eyes and fell silent. What else was he gonna say? _It hurts my feelings, Steve, when you don’t blow your load._

He knew the conversation wouldn’t end there, though, and that was fine so long as it kept Steve from thinking about whatever he’d been fighting in his sleep. There was a long stretch of silence, then Steve let out a sigh. “No…aww, hell, is _that_ what..? I’m sorry, Buck. I’m not uncomfortable with it, okay? I’m not. I just – you know how you said if it was just you, you’d feel like you were puttin’ on a show for me? For me, I can’t be distracted when you get off, cause the whole point is for me to pull you back. Then after, if I stay and finish, seemed like that’d be showing off. Like hey, look at me, look how easy this is, I can just do it whenever I want, no problem, nothing in my head to be worried about. No _reason_ for me stay for that, so staying just felt like taunting you.”

Bucky let out a low laugh. If Steve had any idea how badly Bucky wanted to be _taunted_ by Steve rubbin’ one out in front of him...but he sure as hell couldn’t tell him that. “Nah. It’s weirder havin’ you jump up and run away as soon as I prove my brain’s all there. Makes me feel like you really, _really_ don’t wanna be doing this, but you’re forcing yourself to get through it for me.” All true, technically true, Steve just didn’t need to hear the part about “and I’m in love with you and it kills me that you don’t wanna share that part of yourself with me.”

Suddenly the sheet was yanked off the bed, and Bucky’s eyes flew open to see Steve skimming his underwear off. “Steve, what the hell?”

Steve grinned. “That’s settled now, we’re both awake, and you’ve been grittin’ your teeth and ignoring it for what…four nights now? C’mon, jerk, get going.” Clearly determined to set an example as Captain America always should, Steve closed his eyes and started playing with his own…already impressive erection. Bucky’s eyebrows shot up, cause that definitely wasn’t a usual reaction to a nightmare; apparently just talking about getting off was enough to get Steve going. He just stared for a minute, fascinated – it had only been a few days without it, but he felt like he was never gonna stop being enthralled by the sight of Steve pleasuring himself. “Bucky. Seriously, if I have to hold off until you get yours, you better catch the hell up.”

Bucky started, realizing he’d been caught just watching Steve jerk off. Steve didn’t seem to care though, and his eyes were still closed, which meant he’d just been…listening for the sound of Bucky stroking? Aww, fuck, that possibility had him moaning in pleasure from the first touch of his own hand, and catching up wasn’t gonna be a problem.

His orgasm went just like all the others – overwhelming and shattering and mind-blowingly good because it was shared with Steve. This time, though, Steve didn’t take off as soon as Bucky was calmed down. Instead, he rolled away, taking his hand off Bucky’s shoulder to wrap both hands tight around his cock. Bucky couldn’t stop himself; even if he got caught, there was no way he could resist that, so he peeked carefully out from almost-closed eyes. Steve was rough with himself, pulling harder and tighter than Bucky would have expected, fast and fierce and it was fucking _gorgeous_ to see him coming apart. Bucky was torn – he really wanted to watch Steve come, but he couldn’t fight the urge to watch his friend’s _face_ while he came. Wanted to know that expression, see the pleasure cross Steve’s features when he let go. He glanced up – still so careful, no way Steve would know he was looking – and _holy shit_. Steve’s eyes, unlike his own, were wide open. Bucky hadn’t moved, was laying so still that it’d seem like he hadn’t recovered enough yet to even be aware of Steve. And apparently his friend had bought the act, cause he was getting’ himself off while staring straight at Bucky. Steve’s gaze was locked on his still-mostly-hard cock – which, yeah, he hadn’t actually let go of yet, was still kinda petting gently. Steve was following the movement like he couldn’t tear his gaze away, right up until the second that his face tightened up and his eyes squeezed shut and a moan slipped from his throat. Bucky watched in awe as pleasure crossed Steve’s face, as his best friend came apart from looking at _his_ dick, and just about lost it again himself.

Then he snapped his own eyes shut tight before Steve recovered enough to catch him looking, cause he sure as hell hadn’t had enough time to figure out what that _meant_. It was only a minute before Steve grumbled, “Okay, get outta my bed so I can change the sheets.” Bucky slowly sat up, still shell-shocked, and got a pillow tossed at his head for grabbing the already-ruined sheet to clean himself off.

“You're gonna change 'em anyway, punk. Might as well get it off me before it starts to dry.” Bucky grinned – _act normal, you didn’t see a thing_ – then headed for the door. “Night, Stevie. Thanks.” Steve just tossed the other pillow at his bare ass, already climbing off the bed to yank the sheets free.

Bucky returned to his own room and collapsed on the bed, still naked and a little sticky but completely unable to care. _Steve had been watching him._ Whatever else was going on, that part was undeniable. Steve had been watching him touch himself, had been aroused enough by the sight of Bucky fondling his own dick that he’d come, moaning. And maybe he’d been reluctant to finish in front of Bucky ‘cause he didn’t want to make him feel bad, but maybe…maybe it was a little bit because he was worried it would feel too good. Steve might not even realize it, or might not have thought about the possibilities, but there’d been definite proof tonight that Steve Rogers was turned on by Bucky Barnes.

Bucky tucked his hands behind his head and just stared up at the ceiling with a grin on his face. He felt lighter, happier than he could remember feeling in ages. If Steve was turned on by him…yeah, he could work with that. He fell asleep that night with a new goal, something perfectly suited to his skill set, something he was gonna devote every bit of his time and energy to until it paid off.

Bucky was gonna make his best friend want him until he couldn’t resist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so long to update this – I’ll try to do better for the next chapter. You can yell at me for it on tumbler if you’d like – I’m shanology there, as well.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky has a new mission: get Steve into bed for real. That plan's going to require intel, which means Bucky needs to make friends. And make breakfast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When I started writing this, I never imagined I would end up with a two-year gap between chapters. Life happens, and not always in a good way, but still - two years is beyond ridiculous. I am so, so, grateful for those of you who've stuck with me on this. The comments and tumblr messages I've received are amazing and kept me going, and to all of you who've stayed subscribed to this work - thanks for your faith in me. 
> 
> This chapter is a little bit less sexy than the others, cause Bucky needs to work on his strategy. And cause he can't possibly have his hand on his dick *all* of the time. (Okay, most of the time, but still. A guy's gotta eat and stuff.)

If there was one thing Bucky hated - okay, there were a lot of things, but early mornings were way up there on the list. He’d always been a night owl, through and through. Staying up late usually meant doing something fun, exciting, maybe a little naughty. Dancing or drinking or even just finishing a good book that he’d been dumb enough to pick up right before bed. Getting up early, on the other hand, usually meant he had to do something boring, something that was “good for him” or responsible. Work, exercise, doctor’s appointments: seemed like if something required him to wake up before the sun did, it was almost always something he didn’t want to do. For once, though, Bucky found himself hopping out of bed at dawn with a smile on his face.

After he’d left Steve’s room the night before, he’d lain awake a long time plotting. It wasn’t like he was gonna do something _evil_ to his best friend, but plotting was the only word for it. Bucky had training and skills and natural talent, and he planned to put all those things to good use in Operation: Seduce Steve. He had no doubt that he needed to run this like a military campaign – he’d need strategy, planning, and plenty of stealth if he wanted to get Steve into bed for real.

Grabbing some shorts and a t-shirt, Bucky headed for a _hot_ shower. Toweling off in the gloriously steamed-up bathroom, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and stopped. He hadn’t really looked at his body in a non-clinical way in decades. Sure, he’d inspected wounds, and he’d definitely checked everything over when Tony had attached his new arm. But the last time he’d scrutinized himself as – well, as a prospective love interest – had probably been the night before he’d shipped out, getting ready for that disastrous double date. That guy had been confident, even cocky - a pretty boy who was certain of his appeal.

The guy in the mirror now? He wasn't exactly what Pepper might refer to as "marketable". Sure, the face was basically the same, he'd added layers of muscle that he wasn't sure he could lose even if he tried, and anyone who saw him naked might be impressed by what the serum had done for his dick. But he'd seen during the war how people reacted to someone who'd lost a limb, and even having a Stark prototype in its place didn't ease his self-consciousness there. Plus, unlike Steve's, Bucky's body held onto scars. Seemed like when the chemicals erased experiences from his brain, they stayed imprinted on his flesh instead. And his eyes - even when he smiled, there was a haunted look there that never seemed to go away. So physically, he looked like the battle-worn star of some sci-fi movie. The one who gets killed off so that his younger, hotter, protégé has motivation to fight. Once you added in everything he'd done, and the way his brain was like a puzzle someone had put together all wrong - not exactly a prime catch.

Shaking his head, Bucky pulled on his clothes. Whatever he felt about himself now, clearly Steve saw something he liked. Or at least enough of the guy Bucky had been that he didn't mind the changes so much. Because Steve had been watching, of that he had no doubt. He didn't need to worry about whether or not he was attractive to Steve, he needed to figure out how to drive Steve crazy enough that he'd _act_ on that attraction.

Bucky had always been known for his charm, his silver tongue, and he’d used it to his advantage plenty of times. He’d been able to talk girls out of their panties, cajole grocers into giving him a little more than he actually had the cash for, convince the landlord to accept the rent a few days late – and usually, the other person ended up certain that it had been their own idea. His looks sure hadn’t hurt his cause, but mostly, it’d been his talent for saying just the right thing. Bucky hoped he still had some of that, because Steve had always been his most difficult target - he knew Bucky too well to fall for his act. Seducing his best friend would take every bit of his charm, plus a good dose of his tactical training. He knew just where to start.

******

"Hey, grab some coffee, food's almost ready."

By the time Steve showed up in the kitchen, Bucky had breakfast just about done. It wasn't like he _never_ cooked, he just tended to let Steve handle it 'cause Steve enjoyed it so much. (And okay, yeah, he was lazy and he liked Steve's food better.) But he took over often enough that it wouldn't seem weird for him to cook today, and he'd kept it casual. He hadn't set the table, or poured Steve's coffee for him, or anything that would give off even a whiff of trying too hard. The food was simple, both so he couldn't mess it up and to avoid anything that might make Steve raise an eyebrow. (Steve was well aware that he was lazy. Fancy food would lead to curiosity, and possibly unwanted questions.) By the time Steve had filled a mug with coffee and grabbed plates and forks, Bucky had dropped toasted bagels, strawberry cream cheese, and a bowl of grapes on the table. Nothing strange here, just roommates having breakfast, all part of the regularly scheduled programming. And if he'd skipped putting on a shirt or tying back his hair before heading into the kitchen, so what? He was hungry, wanted to get breakfast going right away. Besides, who'd expect him to be modest in front of his best friend and roommate?

As Steve slid into a chair, Bucky leaned around him to set down the orange juice and a couple of glasses. He could practically hear the nervous swallow as Steve gasped out, "Looks good, Buck." Except he hadn't been looking at the food when he said it - he'd been staring straight at Bucky's abs. Turning back to the counter to hide his smile, Bucky grabbed the platter of eggs. Okay, so maybe those were a _little_ bit fancy, but all he'd done was dice up some peppers and scramble them in. Nobody could claim that knife work wasn't easy as breathing for him. Encouraged by the way Steve had been focused on his body, Bucky decided to push a little bit.

"T'as déjà faim?" he asked quietly, leaning as close to Steve as possible as he reached to set the eggs down on the table. He figured what turned him on might work for Steve, too, so he was going for the triple-whammy: proximity, toplessness, and speaking in a foreign language. That had sent him rushing straight for the shower when he stumbled on Steve making pancakes; maybe it went both ways.

"I...Bucky...wha-at? I mean, I didn't hear you?" Steve was blushing, and stammering, and gripping the table with both hands while his eyes were glued to the bowl of grapes. Yep, direct hit. Looked like they were wired the same way; that would certainly make Bucky's plotting easier.

Casually, he turned and leaned against the table, making sure he'd be impossible to miss in Steve's peripheral vision. Reaching up to tuck his hair behind his ear, he managed to hide his glee when Steve's eyes snapped up to follow the move. "Tu veux manger?"

Confirmed: he was not the only person in the room who got turned on by hearing his roommate speak French. Steve was just staring at his mouth, flustered, his own jaw clenched tight like he didn't quite trust himself to respond. It took a few swallows and wrenching his eyes back to what was apparently a _very_ intriguing bowl of grapes before Steve responded. "Buck, are you okay? You're...I mean...you're not having trouble with your language processing or anything? Because if you can't get the words to come out right, we could head down to the medbay for a scan."

The fact that he said it without any real alarm in his voice was testament to how much Steve had come to accept the "new" Bucky. When they'd first reunited, any behavior that registered as even slightly strange had meant Steve dragging Bucky straight to medical - or worse, to Tony - for an exam. After a few months, he'd finally accepted that his buddy's brain was just going to be a little bit off, and that anything non-violent was probably not worth panicking over. But this was a whole new level of acceptance for Steve; he'd sounded almost excited about the possibility that Bucky might need to go get poked and prodded. Bucky couldn't help the laugh that slipped out as he sat down and reached for a bagel. Steve was so thrown off-balance by whatever he was feeling that he'd rather take Bucky for an MRI than deal with it. And that was...well, that was fantastic. A successful first mission, for sure.

"Nah, I thought you might want the practice. You said you wanted to work on your language skills. Knew you already had some French, since Gabe and Dernier shamed us into it, so figured I'd start there. Just asked if you were hungry." Bucky scooped up some eggs, and even if it wasn't the gourmet breakfast Steve might have made, he knew this would go down as one of the best meals of his life. The quality of the food didn't matter, because he'd gotten the answer he needed. Watching Steve fill his own plate, then eat like the most important thing in the world was to keep his mouth full at all times and avoid having to talk, Bucky had confirmed what he'd seen the night before.

His best friend was indeed very, very, hungry - and his appetite had nothing to do with food.

******

Bucky eased into his plan - even having confirmation that Steve was definitely turned on by him, he didn't want to push things too far, too fast. So it took him an entire week to work up to letting Steve "catch" him touching himself. He wanted to see Steve's reaction unfiltered, when he wasn't trying to hide it from Bucky. The timing had to be perfect - they'd finished training for the day, Bucky'd showered while Steve was fixing dinner, and now Steve had hopped in the shower for his turn. Bucky cleaned up the dishes faster than he'd ever done a chore in his life, then dropped onto the sofa in the living room.

How to position himself for best effect? He'd left his shirt off after his shower, so that was already handled. Decided to leave his sweats on, because naked might be a little too obvious, even for someone as clueless as Steve. Besides, there was something to be said for leaving some things to the imagination. Steve had seen him with his hand on his dick enough times by now that he could fill in the details himself. He ended up stretched out facing the bathroom door - this only worked if he could see Steve's reaction before he had the chance to hide it - with one foot propped on the table, the other flat on the floor, and his right hand between his legs. Knowing Steve was naked in the next room, water running down all those muscles, it was no problem at all to get hard. He just had to keep from doing anything about it until Steve was ready to join him.

The shower shut off, and Bucky double-checked his positioning, then began to touch himself, eyes cracked just enough. When the bathroom door opened, Steve stepped out, a towel around his waist and rubbing another one over his hair. He never got past the doorway, just stopped dead, mouth hanging open, and the towel slid out of his hand as ran his eyes up and down Bucky. But his eyes: it was the same look he used to get when they were in Italy and they'd stumble across a statue that hadn't been destroyed by bombs, like he couldn't wrap his mind around that much beauty. It made Bucky feel bold, and sexy, and wanted. Like he was something worth admiring and wanting to touch. The way Steve's dick sprang to life and made his other towel drop to the floor, too - well, that was the icing on the cake. Steve shook off his daze and grabbed for the towel, and Bucky pretended that sound was what had him opening his eyes.

"Hope it's okay...couldn't wait any longer, figured you'd be out of the shower soon enough. Can we...?"

Steve banged his shin on the table getting to the couch, but made it faster than even a super soldier could have been expected to. His voice cracked a little when he mumbled, "Yeah, Buck, of course we can." Bucky slid his pants off - Steve was naked, so fair was fair - and it took no time at all for Steve to catch up with him. Operation: Seduce Steve was going beautifully.

Handy having Steve's shower towel there when they'd finished, too.

******

"So what do you want to do tonight?"

_Suck your dick_. Okay, that answer probably wouldn't go over so well, but it was the only thing in Bucky's mind and had been all day. And the day before. Couldn't really remember a time lately when he'd had thoughts that _didn't_ revolve around getting his mouth on Steve. Bucky'd been practically dangling himself like bait - wearing as little he could get away with, dialing up the "accidental" physical contact, dropping innuendo into every conversation. He'd kept it subtle, but if Steve was looking for it, he could definitely spot it.

Except Steve either wasn't looking, or he was blind as a bat. He blushed, he stammered, he kept his gaze trained on anything but Bucky - unless he thought Bucky wasn't looking. If Steve thought he was distracted, or asleep, Steve's eyes were devouring Bucky's body like a dessert he'd never tasted but wanted to try immediately. Steve might not be ready to place an order yet, but there was no question he was looking at the menu.

The problem was, Bucky'd forgotten to factor one thing into his plans: himself. Every damn thing he was doing to tempt Steve was doubling back on him just as bad. Being so close all the time, smelling him, touching him, was slowly driving Bucky insane. When he'd thought Steve didn't want him - would never want him - he'd been able to bury all his own fantasies pretty deep most of the time. Knowing he might have a chance, combined with all the flirting, made him want to just drop to his knees and beg Steve to fucking touch him.

"Buck?" Shit, Steve was still waiting for an answer. What _did_ he want to do tonight?

Sometimes, the truth was the best lie. "Get laid."

He had to laugh when Steve's eyes nearly bugged out of his head, and decided to let him off the hook. "But that doesn't seem likely, pal, so we need a second choice." Steve looked...disappointed? relieved?...to hear Bucky confirm he'd been joking. He couldn't figure it out. Over and over, he got little hints that Steve wanted him, but was doing everything he could to hide it. Hell, it wouldn't take much for Bucky to make the first real move. He just needed Steve to flirt back even a little, give a tiny sign that he wanted to do more than look.

Problem was, he didn't know what was holding Steve back, making him so determined to pretend he wasn't feeling anything. In their own time, he'd have thought it was fear of getting caught, but one of the upsides to their fucked-up story was they'd been dropped in an era when people were more free. But maybe the stuff they'd heard as boys - about how it was a sin for men to be with men - had sunk in so deep that Steve was ashamed of wanting him. Sure, Steve was fiercely accepting of everyone else, and had gotten in more than a few arguments with reporters and politicians who expected him to fit their conservative propaganda. But if there was one thing Steve was good at, it was holding himself to different, ridiculous, standards.

Or maybe it had to do with the missing three years of Steve's life. Whatever had happened between when Steve had been defrosted and when Bucky'd finally come in from the cold, Steve had never been willing to talk about it with him. He had the basics from S.H.I.E.L.D.'s old files - anyone on the internet could figure out where Steve had been, the battles he'd fought, awards he'd received and all that public Captain America crap. But Steve had dodged any discussion of what he'd been up to behind the scenes. Maybe there'd been a girlfriend? A boyfriend? Maybe there was someone Steve was already into, and Bucky's sudden reappearance in his life had fucked that up for him.

Bucky needed intel, and he knew where he could get it. It just meant he'd have to make friends, something that used to come easily but that he hadn't been stellar at so far this century. "Since we're the lamest single guys in New York, I vote poker night. Surround ourselves with more of our pitiful kind." Poker night would mean Sam, Clint, Tony, maybe Bruce or Rhodey if they were in town. Just as important, it would exclude Natasha, who'd see through him in three seconds flat if he started pushing for stories about Steve. She was scary perceptive, but without her around, it shouldn't be too tough for him to finesse the guys into talking.

Steve, unaware of the impending investigation into his past, was on board. "I'll call the guys, see who's free. Can you check the fridge? We might need more beer. And some ground beef, I wanna make nachos. Did you use up all the cheddar?" Bucky loved that, the way Steve could jump straight into something, all enthusiasm and joy. He was so serious when he was Cap, but moments like these were pure Steve.

"Make me a list, I'll order up whatever we don't have." The luxury of having any groceries they needed just appear at their door within the hour was something he'd never stop appreciating. The hilarity of watching delivery people trying to keep their cool when Captain America himself answered the door - well, that was a nice bonus.

Bucky dragged his lazy ass off the couch, needing to get dressed. He'd been lounging around in nothing but gym shorts to tempt his roommate, but he'd have to stop with the teasing if they were having people over. Not everyone was as oblivious as his roommate. He strolled out of the room, feeling Steve's gaze on his back. The shorts had been Steve's before he stole them, which meant they were a little big around the waist. He'd taken care of that situation by removing the drawstring completely, and the shorts were now _a lot_ big for him. Big enough that as he walked, he could feel them sliding down until only the curve of his ass was keeping them from falling off. Needing to get one more salvo in before he toned things down for the night, Bucky clenched his muscles and...yep. The shorts dropped to his thighs, and he lazily reached to pull them back up. "Guess I need to stop stealing your clothes," he tossed out, heading for the bedroom

Anyone without serum-enhanced hearing wouldn't have heard the quiet mutter of "fuck" from the other room. Bucky grinned. He absolutely _did_ have an ass worthy of expletives.

******

"Clint's cheating. That's the only explanation. Some circus trick. Because I can calculate all the mathematical probabilities on every card and this shouldn't be happening. So Clint's cheating."

Tony Stark was many things, but a gracious loser was not one of them. He'd tossed his cards on the table and was trying to pat Clint down, looking for hidden pockets or some other answer to explain Clint winning his third hand in a row. Any explanation other than Clint being a better player, Bucky guessed. Tony hated to lose, but that made playing against him even more fun. Tony would bet everything on a bluff before he'd fold, because staying in the game meant he hadn't lost _yet_.

Even having lost this hand definitively, Tony refused to give in. "Seriously Clint, what is it? If it were electronic, Jarvis would have picked up on it. What do you have, tiny mirrors to see our cards?" Clint just laughed - sometimes, that was the only way you could deal with Tony - and made for the kitchen to grab more nachos as Tony demanded, "I need answers!"

"The answer is, he's better than you, Stark." Sam punctuated the taunt by pointing in Tony's direction, but the gesture lost some of its authority when all the toppings slid off the tortilla chip in his hand to land back on his plate with a wet plop. Sam, unperturbed, used the chip to scoop everything back up as he expanded his mocking into a long list of everything that Clint was better at.

From the other side of the table, Steve occasionally chimed in with some vital skill that Sam had left out - what the hell was carry oh key? - but mostly, he just let the chaos swirl around him. That had always been Steve: put him in a social situation and he'd go quiet, unsure of himself and afraid of drawing too much attention. Steve had learned as a kid that attention wasn't always a good thing, and it seemed like the only time he broke the habit of trying to fade into the background was when he was leading a mission. These were Steve's friends, though, and even when the ribbing was aimed in Steve's direction, he didn't seem to mind.

Bucky knew Steve would be upset with him for not thinking of them as his own friends, too. And it wasn't that he didn't like them, it was just that for all the time they spent together, he knew they were just co-workers. Maybe acquaintances, at best. It had only been six months since he'd been moved out of the "enemy" column in their books, and if even he didn't fully trust that his brain wouldn't go haywire, how could they? So...baby steps. He wasn't cleared to go out on true missions yet - things that required planning and strategy and depended on every single person doing their part without fail. Bucky was only called in for what he thought of as disaster management: when shit had gone down unexpectedly, and it was all hands on deck scrambling to contain the situation in any way possible. That meant that he was in the thick of things with everyone else, fighting hand-to-hand (or hand-to-whatever freakin' appendage a creature might have). Logistically, that in-close fighting meant a few other things: that he was always surrounded by other members of his team who could keep an eye on him, that nobody had to depend on him to play a specific pre-determined role, and that he was never behind the scope of a rifle that could, theoretically, be turned on his teammates. It made sense, he couldn't blame them, but he knew he was still on probation both literally and figuratively.

That made nights like this especially satisfying. He didn't spend a whole lot of time with anyone in a non-professional way. The occasional coffee with Barton, since Steve had suggested (insisted, with puppy dog eyes) that they bond over their mutual experience of having their brains invaded. Jogging with Sam, but only when Steve had invited him along, too. Otherwise, his social life was basically...Steve. Which was nothing to complain about, but he definitely missed hanging out with all the Commandos and just being part of a group.

The next hand had been dealt, and the conversation had shifted to some experiment Banner had done the week before that had somehow resulted in a temporary loss of gravity within his lab. Bucky figured he couldn't complain about not having friends if he never spoke, so he eased in with, "Where is Bruce tonight, anyway? Thought he was in town this week?" Everyone looked to Tony, since those two were attached at the hip almost as closely as he and Steve.

Tony, always happy to be the center of attention _and_ the acknowledged king of being dramatic, took a long swig of his beer before nonchalantly saying, "Bruce got a call from his long-lost love and jumped on a plane." This was news to Bucky, but then, most things were. Apparently this time it was news to the rest of them, too - Clint fumbled his cards and scrambled to pick them up before Tony could see, Steve set his own beer on the table with a thud, and Sam's eyes just about bugged out of his head.

"Bruce? Isn't he in love with...science?"

"I always just kinda assumed Banner was ace."

"How the hell did he hide a long-lost love from us? From _Natasha_? She knows everything. Wait - did she know about this?" Clint sounded way more offended by the idea that Natasha would hide something from him than that Bruce might have.

Tony must've been dying to share the details, because he didn't even bother drawing the story out for effect. "You've read his file? With the gamma study and how he became the big green anger machine? Betty Ross - they worked together on that, but you could say they were 'putting in some overtime'. Bruce gets turned into a weapon of mass destruction, Betty's dad - the asshat we all know as General Ross - makes it his life's goal to hunt down the Hulk and either conscript him or kill him. So our Romeo goes into hiding, until New York happens and the Hulk's all over CNN. Government finally puts a leash on General Ross, Bruce comes back to civilization, but doesn't call his girl because "I can't expect someone else to want to deal with my disaster," or some such crap." Tony paused for beer, or maybe because that statement hit a little too close to home for him. "Anyway, so this morning _she_ finally calls _him_. Says she needs his help with some research, he's the most knowledgeable in the field, blah blah I want you bad but I'm not gonna admit it so let's talk about genetics. Two hours later, he was on a plane."

Sam let out a low whistle, shaking his head in wonder. "Damn. Man knows how to keep a secret. Never figured Bruce for the tragic romantic backstory - I thought Steve had that award all locked up."

Bless you, Sam, and thank you. Bucky sent a silent thanks to Bruce and Tony, as well, because they'd all slid the conversation in exactly the direction Bucky needed it to go. "Pretty sure Steve's taken a vow of chastity - if he can't have a '40s dame, he's just gonna go without." He didn't know whether he was hoping to find out that Steve had been in relationships since he got out of the ice, or whether he really wanted to hear that his friend had been alone all that time. Either way, he needed the intel - needed to understand what was holding Steve back.

Clint busted up laughing. "Steve's no nun, he just has _zero_ game. You'd think looking like that, plus the whole 'American icon' thing, the guy'd be getting laid every night. But even when he's got 'em, he doesn't know what to do with them." Steve attempted to protest. Barton wasn't swayed. "No, uh-uh, don't you shake your head at me, Rogers. That time you took Amy in logistics out to dinner, after she spent weeks practically stripping in front of you, trying to get your attention? I heard her the next day, talking to Jen. She invited you up afterwards, but you told her you had to get back to the Tower and practice with your shield." Steve covered his face with his hands, which told Bucky that story was absolutely true.

Sam jumped in. "You think that's bad? Kristen - the brunette who works the counter at the cafe? - invited him to go bowling. He told her thank you, but that he didn't think it would be fair for him to compete against anyone like that, what with the serum." Yep, that sounded exactly like something Steve would say, and the way he now had his head buried in his arms on the table, moaning, meant it was definitely something he _had_  said.

Sam wasn't finished, though. "C'mon man, you're Captain freaking America. How is it possible that the only person you've kissed since you got out of the ice is Natasha?" That had Bucky springing to attention; was it possible he'd completely missed something between those two? But his panic eased when Sam went on to tell the story of Nat laying one on Steve to avoid notice while on the run. Steve's protests ("I _told_ Nat that wasn't my first kiss since 1945!") fell on deaf ears, and Sam pronounced, "Seriously, man. You gotta get some action with someone other than your co-worker."

Bucky had what he'd needed, and Steve was starting to seriously red in the face. It was time to shift focus. "Really, Wilson? That why you spend so much time mooning over Sharon Carter?" He didn't even have to participate in the conversation after that. Tony was off and running at the mere suggestion, leaving Bucky free to drink beer, lose money, and ponder Steve's love life.

If Steve had been dating anyone in the years he'd been awake, he was better at keeping secrets than Bruce. Sounded like he'd tried every now and then, at least taken a girl out, but it hadn't gone anywhere. Definitely not far enough that he was attached to someone else. So maybe the problem was that there _hadn't_ been anyone? Unless he'd been keeping some big secrets from Bucky during the war, he and Peggy hadn't gotten much further than kissing. Not for lack of wanting, but because there was no way Steve was the kind of guy to romance his girl in some barn with a battalion of guys just outside the door. Maybe Steve was nervous, or just didn't know how to move forward, because he never had? That was a problem Bucky could definitely work with. He'd just have to step it up from innuendo to subtle invitation.

However much he wanted friends - and knowledge about Steve - what Bucky wanted most at that moment was for everyone to be gone. He solved that problem by actually playing to win, using every technique Gabe had taught him and a few tricks that weren't necessarily in the rule book to make sure he won every hand. (Normally Bucky Barnes was not a card cheat, but some causes required sacrifice. Besides, it was only cheating if you got caught.) Once he began to clean everyone out with his "lucky streak", the guys were only too quick to call it a night, and once the snacks had been cleared away...bedtime.

That night, he put on a performance only a saint could resist. Moaning, whimpering, clutching the sheets with his left hand while his right hand slid up and down his dick. Biting his lip - which he knew made him look hot as hell - and lifting his hips to meet his strokes. Masturbation as performance art, and he drew the experience out as long as he could, slowing his strokes whenever he felt himself getting close. It lasted forever, and Steve was right there with him, rubbing his own cock and panting. Asking, "Soon, Buck?" and clearly having trouble holding his own orgasm in while he waited for Bucky to finish. Finally, even Bucky couldn't hold back any longer, and as he fell back to earth he heard Steve groaning through his own orgasm. Except. One of Steve's hands had gotten pinned under Bucky's metal arm, and the other was still on his shoulder.

Which meant Steve had cum, untouched, while watching Bucky finish.

And still, he slid out of the room as soon as Bucky opened his eyes, mumbling something about a shower and jogging in the morning. Bucky'd put on a show that should have been irresistible, and Steve had resisted. His body had made it very clear that he wasn't immune, but apparently he was closer to sainthood than Bucky'd expected.

Fuck. Was he going to have to upgrade from subtle invitation to...actual invitation? Was he going to have to say the words?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Amazing, sexy fanart for this chapter courtesy of pain-art on tumblr](http://shanology.tumblr.com/post/129572965565) \- I'm so humbled by this I can't breathe


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